


1.42AM

by pixiescanfly



Series: As Completely As I Know You [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Godric's Hollow, M/M, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Moral Ambiguity, Obsessive Behavior, Revenge, Sequel, Sirius PoV, Snape does not have a healthy attitude to Lily Evans, Stalking, Violence, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7105966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiescanfly/pseuds/pixiescanfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation and some understanding between Sirius Black and Severus Snape at Godric's Hollow at 1.42am on that Halloween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1.42AM

1 November 1981: 1.42am

They were dead. He knew it the moment he saw the house. 

He’d known something was off all night as he spent hours watching the flickering lights on the huge map in Order headquarters that represented the houses of those thought to be on the hit list, on watch duty on Halloween because he had nowhere else to be. As soon as he’d seen the light representing Godric’s Hollow flicker out he’d been out of his seat and on his way to the Floo, following protocol. 

He tried Peter first. No answer. The light for his house had stayed stubbornly burning on the map. No forced entry. No smashing of the wards. Not even a triggering of the secret wards using the emergency panic phrase. He must have been taken from somewhere else.

Taken from somewhere else or gone willingly. 

No time for that thought. 

Protocol two, and it takes him a moment to summon the courage to do it. He knows what he’s searching for but it almost sickens him to reach there now. He does it anyway, remembering Prongs’ eyes on his, his lips and his tongue and his hands everywhere, finally coming together after years of dancing around one another almost there but never quite connecting. The Patronus explodes from his wand almost before he finishes the charm- a giant shaggy dog that he has been told is the spitting image of Padfoot. He concentrates hard on the happy memory, letting the feel and the scent of James overwhelm him for a moment, solidifying the Patronus before breathing the message into it and sending it blasting through the window for reinforcements. Dumbledore, Moody, Shacklebolt, the Prewetts, Diggle, Podmore. 

Protocol had been followed. Now it dictated that he remain at his station, watching the lights to see if any others flickered out, making sure that the rest of the Order were safe while he left the fate of the love of his life to others. 

That was never going to happen. 

He knew it would take the Patronus several minutes to travel, and then each member would have to prepare. Wands would be fetched. Shoes would be donned. Loved ones would be informed. He could get there first. He had the best chance of any of them of making a difference.

And so ran. Apparition was impossible within the Order’s premises, so he ran down corridors and up a flight of stairs and out of a door and across a garden jumping over gnomes as he went. His wand was out and he was turning as he leapt the garden wall and jumped into the long tunnel of apparition, bringing Godric’s Hollow into his mind with a singleminded determination, hoping against hope that he would be in time. 

He slammed into the ground a moment later and looked up at a smoking ruin. 

Dead. They had to be. There was no sounds of fighting. No spells flying. Nothing. Numbly he dashed towards the house, hoping against hope that he was wrong, that they were still somehow alive in there… that Prongs was still somehow alive, against all the odds. 

He didn’t remember finding the body afterwards. He assumes he must have done, because he knew where it was when Dumbledore asked him later. He was able to describe exactly how it had fallen, where it was lying, what it told him about the fight (what fight, James hadn’t even had his wand). The six months of Auror training he’d managed to complete before the Ministry had thrown him out, suspicious of his allegiance retained the details even as his conscious mind ignored them. He remembered reaching the door, and then nothing until he heard the noise behind him. Footsteps. The crunch of glass underfoot. He whirled around, ready to kill whoever it was. 

Severus Snape stood before him, holding James’ baby in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. Sirius was so shocked that he almost dropped his wand.

‘You!’ he roared, surging forwards, but halting himself as the baby in Snape’s arms stirred and he was reminded just how much that little boy meant to him. Most important things first- he needed to get Harry out of here before he started ripping Snape limb from limb with his bare hands. 

‘Me.’ Snape answered, looking anywhere but at Sirius. 

‘What the… give him to me Snivellus. I’m his godfather. He’s mine.’ He growled at the Death Eater.

‘Of course. What would I want with Potter’s brat?’ Snape answered, scorn and hatred obvious in his voice. Sirius moved forward to take the baby and found himself at the end of a wand. He took a step back, seething. 

‘I want one thing from you, Black. One thing in exchange for the boy, unharmed’ Snape continued.

‘What?’ Sirius ground out, ready to deal with the devil for the sake of that child.

‘I want a name. I want the name of the person that sold her to him. I want the name of the person that came forward and offered her up in exchange for their own pathetic excuse for an existence. We have taken no prisoners. We didn’t take the knowledge by force. I would know. I have particular skills. They would have asked me. Whoever did this came to him and offered my Lily as a trade. I’m going to hunt them down and make them wish they had let the Dark Lord have them. You can give me the name, or I’ll kill the child and find the name on my own’ Snape’s voice wavered between cold fury and utter despair and Sirius gaped at him. 

He had known that Snape had an obsession with Lily- everyone in Gryffindor had. They’d all found it hilariously amusing until Lily had gone on the warpath and scolded them all to within an inch of their lives. He’d never realised just how obsessive Snape was though. Not until he saw the same fury, the same desperate pain, the same need to rend and kill reflected back in the eyes of his childhood nemesis. The childhood nemesis who had spent his last years perfecting violence, perfecting pain, learning the art of retribution until he was one of its legendary practitioners, until his was one of the name whispered whenever news of more massacres came in. Sirius had heard stories. Everyone had. And now he was asking for a name. Now he was asking for a target. And Sirius knew the depth of rage, the depth of hatred that festered in this man’s soul, reaching for an outlet. It resonated with the same rage in Sirius’ heart, the same loss. 

‘A name and you give me Harry, unharmed?’ Sirius asked, barely grasping how that sentence could be real. Harry. Unharmed. Survivor. When the Dark Lord himself had come for him, the child should have been dead. And yet he could see him wriggling in Snape’s grasp. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘A name and they never find the body?’ Sirius continued. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘It was Peter. Peter Pettigrew.’

Snape nodded once, curtly. Then he moved backwards a step, bending to deposit Harry on the floor of the destroyed hallway and turned sharply on his heels, swiping the tears from his face as he strode towards the door. Sirius let him go, darting forward to grasp his godson in his arms, feeling his warm wriggling body and trying not to recall the cold, deadly stiffness that he had grasped just minutes before. 

‘I’ll keep him safe now Prongs. I’ve got him, I promise.’ He whispered, looking down at the wriggling bundle in his arms. ‘Just you and me, kiddo. I’ll keep you safe. I swear.’  
Dumbledore found him like that, curled around his godson, whispering promises to keep safe the son of the best friend _(true love)_ that had been taken from him.


End file.
